


Moonshine

by sabaceanbabe



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-04
Updated: 2005-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-06 23:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabaceanbabe/pseuds/sabaceanbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Gods, he missed her, missed what they'd had…</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonshine

He sat in the school cafeteria, a glass of Caprican rotgut cradled in both hands. Moonlight streamed through a broken window above and refracted through the potent liquid. He didn't hear her come in.

"Helo," Sharon began, uncertainty clouding her voice, "we need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about." They'd tried that already, and had found nothing constructive to say. He swallowed half the 'shine at once, welcoming the burn. Gods, he missed her, missed what they'd had, stolen moments though they were, before she'd turned from Sharon into a Cylon. He frowned. No, that wasn't right. There was no Sharon, only her, only the Cylon. Or at least _a_ Cylon. Frak. He lifted the glass for another swig.

Her hand was cool on his wrist as she blocked him from raising the glass to his lips. He stared at her slender fingers, dark in the moonlight against the paler skin of his arm. "You don't need that; it won't help anything."

He stood, suddenly angry. Angry with her, angry with himself, angry with the frakking Gods and their frakked up universe. "Don't tell me what I need. You don't know what I need."

She flinched, but then anger of her own flared in her eyes. Those dark eyes that he could drown in so easily, still pools of night, waiting to swallow his soul.

"Helo, I—"

He cut her off, closed his own fingers around her wrist, so fragile-seeming and yet… And yet she could break him, if she chose to. Physically, emotionally. He pulled her in close, hard, so that her slim body was flush against his chest, stomach, thighs. Her lips parted – to protest? – and his eyes were drawn to them against his will. "You want to talk?" he stabbed at her, remembering how soft, yielding, dominating her lips could be. "Then talk. Why did you leave me?"

Her eyes widened in surprise and he swallowed a bitter smile. She thought she knew him so well, but she hadn't expected that. She tried to pull away from him and he tightened his grip. She bit her lower lip and he couldn't stop the rush of blood from his brain to points south. She knew it, too, damn her.

"I didn't leave you, Helo." He shook his head, snorted in disbelief. She relaxed her tense muscles, no longer trying to pull away from him. A stray breeze swirled softly through the broken window. "I left Kara, not you," she whispered.

"Whatever…" He couldn't help himself. Even as he tried to deny her he abandoned the glass of moonshine on the table at her back, reached up to thread his fingers into her hair, forcing it from its tail into a silken caress against his skin.

Sharon took a step into him, bringing one leg between his, molding her body to his. He inhaled, breathing her in. Between the intoxication of the alcohol and the headier intoxication that was Sharon, Helo found it harder and harder to concentrate. He was still angry, still hurt, but this was Sharon, whatever he might say aloud.

"I left _Kara_," she continued, "because I didn't want to be shot again, and I didn't want her to shoot you if you stepped between us again." Her last words were a feather touch against his lips. "I came _back_. I came back to _you_. Helo, I lo—"

"Stop talking, Sharon." To be certain she obeyed, that she wouldn't say anything else, anything that he still wasn't ready to hear, he took the choice away from her, blocking any more words with his mouth, his tongue.

The kiss went on forever as her arms slid around his shoulders, her fingers into his hair. Their tongues danced and he heard a whimper, couldn't tell if it came from him or from her. Just as he couldn't tell if he pushed her to the hard floor or if she pulled him down with her.

He didn't care anymore. That she was a Cylon, that he was human, that her fellow Cylons had destroyed most of the human race, that they were enemies. She was Sharon. Sharon, who he had loved for years, even if no one knew it but him. And she was herself, the woman who had kept him alive and free from the Cylons – the _other_ Cylons – for weeks for reasons of her own.

An eternity later, the barriers of cloth and leather no longer an issue, Helo slid an arm under her, lifted her, thrust into her. One long leg wrapped around his hips and she pulled his head down for another kiss.

She was Sharon and she was his and he was hers. He lost himself in her.

Willingly, hopelessly, for good or ill. He was lost…

He was home.


End file.
